The Saiyan Formerly Known as Prince
by Pleeai
Summary: Just a little peak into the mind of a prince. I mostly wrote this because of the title. *shrug*


Child of Magic 
    
    
    **The Saiyan Formerly Known as Prince**
    
    
    Vegeta was sitting cross-legged in the shattered remains
    of the training gravity room that Bulma and her father had
    built for him. He was breathing heavily from his efforts, his
    clothing hanging from him in shreds, and his usual glare on his
    face.
    Why couldn't he do it? Know matter how hard he tried,
    he could never pass up that lowly Kakarot. He trained just as
    hard as the blundering idiot, if not harder, and yet he still could
    not pass his rival in skill or power. His confidence and anger
    faded from his face to be replaced by an emotion he rarely
    felt, let alone showed: Shame. Vegeta, crowned prince of the
    Saiyan race, had once again let his race down.
    He had failed them by being unable to keep Frieza from
    destroying his planet and the majority of the race. He had
    failed them by not being the one to obtain the revenge for his
    people by defeating Frieza. And, more importantly to his mind,
    he failed them by allowing a lowly, third class Saiyan defeat
    him on a regular basis with apparent ease.
    He sighed and closed his eyes, a tangible pain that had
    become familiar to him ever since he met that dratted Kakarot
    rising once again to confront him. To his surprise, he had to
    blink back tears. When his eyes had cleared, he opened them
    to study the rubble around him. That rubble was another
    familiar sight to him.
    He'd spent so many years under the thumb of the evil
    that was Frieza. He had done horrible things during those
    years, but he would do no differently given the chance. Those
    events were key to making him the incredible force that he
    was. He'd seen more than his fair share of rubble and charred
    remains during his life. Of course, those strengthening events
    apparently hadn't been enough to defeat Frieza or Kakarot.
    He stood with a snarl, all of his melancholy feelings
    chipping off like old paint as he thrust an angry fist into one of
    the larger pieces of rubble. His aura flared brightly. He was
    the prince of all Saiyans, first by birth, but forever second by skill
    and ability. He growled once more before his aura flickered
    and died, his shoulders slumping.
    He stood as still as stone for several long minutes, the
    ability for coherent thinking fleeing him for that period of time,
    drowning beneath his anguish. Afterwards his shoulders
    straightened and he brought his head up to glare
    triumphantly at the horizon. He had yet to fail, and he would
    not fail in this. He would make his people proud of him if he
    had to die in order to defeat Kakarot. A confident smirk
    settling onto his rough, chiseled features, he gave a curt nod
    and began mentally preparing himself to continue his training.
    "Vegeta! How can you be so proud about demolishing
    all of my hard work?"
    He slowly turned his head to stare blankly at the female
    that was glaring coldly at him. Her hands were on her hips
    and she was tapping a bare foot on the tiled floor of the
    hallway. She was standing where the doorway to his training
    room had been, even though the entire wall was lying around
    her feet.
    "Well, are you going to attempt to explain yourself?"
    He cocked his head and studied the woman he'd been
    living with. She was quite pretty by any planet's standards
    (not that he'd ever even hint at it to her), even though he'd
    never noticed it. He snorted and turned to face her, stalking
    closer to her. By the time he was stepping right up to her, she
    was looking distinctly nervous, but trying valiantly to hide it.
    Good. He liked strong women. And this woman, this
    Bulma, was indeed strong. She was strong in a way that was
    very different from Vegeta's physical strength. He smirked at
    her and gave a soft snort.
    "No, woman, I will not explain myself."
    Throwing one hand to the back of her head and pulling
    her in for a kiss, she gave a shriek that was muffled by his own
    mouth. She ceased struggling pretty quickly however, and
    soon he was gathering her into his arms and flying up to his
    bedroom. As he continued his kiss, now much deeper than
    before, he smirked mentally.
    If he was going to die defeating Kakarot, he'd better
    have an heir or two. After all, he was the last of the royal line
    of the Saiyan race. He was Vegeta, Prince of the Saiyans, and
    he could do as he liked.
    

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